Episode One: Birds of a Feather
by Wolfman1
Summary: How Helena first joined the Birds of Prey. ***Final Chapters are up.***
1. Chapter One

Author's Note:

            This began as a dare.

            After hearing about the Birds of Prey untimely television demise, I was once again commenting to a friend about the many mistakes I felt they made when adapting the story. Being a fan of the comic book, I'd been excited when I first read about it coming to television. I knew some changes had to be made in order to pull it smoothly into a different medium, but that was okay. What I didn't expect was for them to go and completely muck up the original concept. The writing was slowly getting better, but I felt there was only so much that could be done to improve something built on such a shaky foundation.

            After listening to my whining for several minutes, Lee (that's my friend) turned to me and asked, "Do you think you could do any better?"

            "Sure," I said.

            "Prove it."

            With the gauntlet thrown down, I stood, straightened my back, squared my shoulders and, with a voice demanding the respect I felt I deserved, said, "Huh?"

            "Prove it," he repeated. "Write your version of the pilot. Now that's it has been canceled, just imagine that another network has come to you and asked you to revamp the show for them. They want to start back at the beginning. How would you do it?"

            That was how it started. I imagined the parameters originally given were a) Huntress had to be the daughter of Batman and Catwoman and b) Batman and Catwoman couldn't be used except on the fringes of the story, if at all. 

            With that being said, I hope you enjoy it. It's a little closer in continuity with the comics (Earth-2 history as well as Earth-1) than the TV show, but it has elements of both. And neither. Comments are welcome, but remember, this is not your WB's Birds of Prey. 

PS- This is a work in progress and a first draft work at that. I'll probably re-edit it when I'm done, so please bear with me until then. 


	2. Author's Note

            Libby Kanly switched off the kitchen light and planted herself in front of the dark television set, sinking deep into the cushions of her favorite chair. The room was dark, lit only by a small table lamp. That was okay, though. The darkness fit her mood perfectly. She was bored; bored and restless.

            She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding it in for as long as she could before exhaling slowly. It didn't do anything to help her anxiety but it did give her something to do for a minute or so.

            She told herself to go to bed. It was almost one o'clock in the morning and she had to be at work early the next day. She wasn't worried about being fired, but a fierce sense of commitment kept her from taking her responsibilities too lightly. But going to bed wouldn't help. She knew from past experience that she was going to be up for the night. 

            A knock came at the door.

            She groaned. She knew who it was and his timing couldn't be worse. She thought about just not answering but she knew that wouldn't deter him. While knocking wasn't his usual style, it wasn't completely unheard of either; especially if he was in his civilian clothes. 

            The knock came again, this time a little more forceful, more confident. She sighed, resigning herself to fate, and got up to answer it.

            It wasn't who she thought it was.

            The man standing outside the door was big. He was six foot six at least with so wide she thought he wouldn't be able to fit through the door without turning sideways. Even though he backlit by the streetlight, she could see his face clearly. It was hard, solid and very nearly square. His nose had been broken, several times by the look of it, and his dark hair was heavily slicked back and greasy. He wasn't who she expected but she knew who it was just the same.

            "Blockbuster," she whispered.

            "Hello, pretty lady," he said. His voice was deep and gravelly with just a touch of southern twang. "I've got a message for you."

            A feeling both foreign and familiar to her suddenly flooded her body, replacing the fear that had momentarily frozen her. Her muscles tightened and her eyes narrowed as she prepared herself for a fight. A thought of her daughter, now asleep her room, quickly changed her mind.

            "No thanks," she snarled and slammed the door. She turned and ran, making a beeline to her daughter's room, but barely made it out of the foyer before the door exploded inward. Splinters of wood rained down around her. One large piece hit her in the back of the head with the force of a hammer and knocked her to her knees. She shook it off, but not before he was on her, lifting her by the neck with one meaty hand.

            "I said I had a message for you," he said politely. "Maybe you should have been nice and listened."

            "Bite me," she gasped and kicked. She had the satisfaction of feeling something crack as her heel connected with his nose. He shook his head once, as if shaking off a daze, then smiled at her with a bloody mouth. 

            "What'd you do that for?" he asked. "All I wanted to do was talk. Now I'm gonna-"

            He was interrupted by a soft, sleepy voice from the hallway. "Mom?"

            Both combatants' attention turned towards the voice. A teenaged girl stood in the entrance of the hall. She was wearing red flannel pajama pants and a tight white man's tank undershirt. Her long black hair hung loose around her shoulders, mussed from sleep. She was using one hand to rub her eyes as she stared uncomprehendingly at the scene taking place in front of her. 

            "Now that's what I'm talking about," Blockbuster said, his eyes traveling up the girl's body. 

            "Like hell," Libby breathed and snapped outward again with her foot, this time pointing her big toe at his eye. She felt the soft tissue give, an overripe grape under a hammer. Blockbuster howled and dropped her, both hands flying to the left side of his face. 

            Libby managed two shallow breaths before she turned to the girl and yelled, "HELENA! GO! NOW!"

            Helena's indecision showed in her eyes as she looked back and forth between her mother and the screaming behemoth. Libby was about to yell again when she felt the gigantic hand close around the top of her head. Blockbuster physically turned her around to face him. She struggled but couldn't break his grip. The other hand returned to her neck. He pulled her close to him, giving her no room or leverage to attempt another strike. His left eye was already purple and swollen, thickened blood and puss clinging to his eyelashes like dew.

            "Bitch," he breathed into her face and wrenched his hand in opposite directions.

            Helena heard the crack of her mother's neck echo through the room and saw her lifeless body hit the floor, but it wasn't until the giant brute began to advance on her did she heed her mother's command. She ran across the living room and threw herself bodily through the sliding glass door, crossing her arms in front of her to protect her face. She hit the ground running, barely noticing the slivers of glass embedded in the soles of her feet or the many scrapes and cuts running up her arms. She was gone almost before Blockbuster knew she'd moved. 

            He grunted, walked past the dead heap on the floor and left by the front door.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

            The plate-glass window at Kane's Diamond Distributors shattered as the man's body went trough it and rolled unconscious on the sidewalk. The blond woman turned and dropped into a crouch as the second man tried to hit her across the head with the butt of his gun. He missed. She kicked him in the ankle, knocking him to the floor. She heard the rush of air leaving his lungs and knew he wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

            Two down, four to go.

            Three of the others approached her from different angles while the last one continued to fill a bag with display diamonds. He must be the leader, she thought, leaving the others to do the dirty work. They were in close quarters, but that suited her just fine. The closer they were the less likely they were to use their weapons. The chance of hitting a teammate was too great. She hoped.

            "You must be that Black Bird chick I keep hearing about," the one in front of her said. "Why don't you save yourself a beating and fly away?"

            "Ca-na-ry," she said slowly, emphasizing each syllable. "Black Canary. God, I need a better publicist."

            "Whatever your name is, I think it's time we stuff you."

            He started to lift his weapon, a sawed-off shotgun, but she leapt up at him and delivered a roundhouse kick to his wrist. She heard it snap and the gun went flying. 

            "Now that just sounded dirty," she said, starting to form a fist. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the other men raise his weapon. She somersaulted over a display case and landed on all fours, letting her body sink as close to the floor as possible. The shotgun exploded, sending buckshot through the glass display above her head and, from the sound of it, into the man whose wrist she'd just broken.

            There went the close-quarters theory.

            "Canary," a voice said in her ear.

            "Not now, Oracle. I'm a little busy."

            "Are you still at Kane's?"

            "For the moment." A fire extinguisher sat next to her head, under the display case. The other two men were shouting at the gunman, telling him to put the gun down and watch where he was pointing it. She flipped the extinguisher up and out where she last saw the gunman standing. He pumped a round into it. The extinguisher exploded, sending smoky foam into the men's faces. 

            "Be with you in a sec," she said and vaulted over the ruined case, landing beside a white-faced thug. A kick in the ribs sent him stumbling into the gunman, whose weapon clattered across the floor as the two went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

            The last man headed for the door, bag of diamonds and henchmen all but forgotten. From a side pocket, Black Canary pulled out a disc. It was thin and lightweight and slightly larger than her palm. Cut into its center was the profile of a bird's head. She threw it backhanded at the retreating burglar. As it spun, it emitted a shrill tone, the cry of a bird of prey. The man turned his head towards the sound and was knocked unconscious for his efforts when the disc hit him square in the forehead. 

            She retrieved the disc and took a brief moment to review her handiwork before jumping through the broken window. She retrieved her motorcycle from the alleyway and sped off down the road, passing three of Gotham's finest as they sped towards the robbery-once-in-progress.

"Oracle, you there?"

            "I'm here, Canary, but I'm getting a lot of high wind interference on your com mike. Are you on your bike?"

            "Hold on." Black Canary touched a button that switched her com signal from local to the headset located in her helmet. "Is that better?"

            "Much. How did things go at Kane's?"

            "Fair. One of the guys got a little frisky and ended up shooting his partner trying to get to me, but other than that it went fine."

            "Are you ready for something else?"

            "Hit me."

            "I need you to go out to Gotham Heights. I'll send you the exact information on your GPS. Batman called in and said there's something there he needs our help with."

            Canary laughed. "The big boy needs our help? What's wrong? Did he get a run in his tights and he needs me to sew them up for him?"

            "Actually, he didn't say. You know how he is. Keeps his own council, everything on a need to know basis. He just asked me to have you meet him there as soon as possible."

            "Asked?"

            "Ordered, to be honest. I can always tell him you're busy."

            Canary read the information downloading on the GPS display located on the bike's handlebars. She calculated the distance and sighed. "Tell him I'll be there in about twenty minutes."  


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

            Black Canary cut the power to the bike, headlight included, and coasted until she was across the street from the house. The neighborhood was small, but the lots themselves were large enough to give plenty of privacy and quiet to the people who lived there. Neighbors were few and far between. The whole place smelled of money.

            The only light came from a single streetlight. She could see the busted door easily enough, but the house was dark. Almost too dark. The power's been cut, she thought.

            "Oracle," Canary said, removing her helmet and switching the feed back to her throat mike. "I'm here."

            "Do you see anything?"

            "Not really. It's too dark. I'm going to have to use the infrareds." From another pouch on her leg she pulled a set of small lenses held together by a small band. When she put them on, the world was awash in red, the scenery glowing bright. "Something destroyed the front door. Something big from the looks of it. Doesn't look like an explosion. No scorch marks anywhere."

            "Any sign of Bats?"

            "Not yet, but – wait a minute. Someone's in there."

            Canary ran into the living room and knelt by the body. It was clear the woman was dead, but she started to feel for a pulse anyway.   

            "Don't bother," a voice said from the darkness. "She's been dead for a couple of hours now."

            Even with the infrareds on, he blended with the shadows. She could see bits of his costume, the end of his cape here, a gloved finger there and of course his mouth and chin where they protruded from his cowl, but he must have been wearing the old suit, the one without the yellow oval because she couldn't even see the big black bat winging across his chest . He moved forward so she could see the outline of his eyes.

            "Who is she?" Canary asked.

            "Her name's Kanly," he said. When he spoke, his voice carried no doubt, no insecurity. "Everything you need to know about her is in here."

            He handed her a thin manila envelope. She took it and looked at the few scattered pages inside. "Not much in here."

            "You don't need much," he said. "She's not your priority. She had a daughter, 16, named Helena. The girl's missing. There's a picture of her in the envelope. She needs to be found quickly. Found and protected. I've already begun the necessary arrangements."

            "What arrangements?"

            "This," he said, pointing at the body on the floor and completely ignoring her question, "was part of a bigger, well planned assault. Earlier tonight, there was a massive breakout attempt at Arkham Asylum. I helped the Gotham police contain most of the problem. While the breakout was occurring, someone came here and killed her and attempted to kill her daughter, but the daughter escaped. I need you to find her."

            "You said that already." She motioned to the body. "What does she have to do with Arkham? Was killing her supposed to be a distraction of some kind?"

            "Arkham was the distraction. The Joker has disappeared."

            Canary heard Oracle's sharp intake of breath over her earring speakers at the sound of the Joker's name.

            "I thought the Joker was still in a coma?"

            "As did I. Take that information to Oracle and find Helena."

            Canary shivered involuntarily at the sound of his orders. 'Why don't you take them to her? I'm not your damned errand boy. You still haven't explained what this has to do with anything?"

            "I'm going after the Joker," he said by way of explanation. "I don't believe he's in Gotham anymore. I'll find him and deal with him. You find the girl. Tell Barbara that Gotham is hers until I return."

            He walked past her and out the front door. She glance again at the body then ran after him, determined to get some answers, but he was gone. 

            "I hate it when he does that," she said.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

**            The Joker lay on a hospital gurney in the corner of the large room. Several tubes, connected to bags hanging beside him, ran into his arms. His skin, normally a chalk white, had paled even further, giving it an almost translucent quality. His green hair was oily and matted. A small woman stood at his head, wiping his brow with a damp washcloth.**

            "I've missed you, puddin'," she said. Her voice was high, girlish, and had had a child-like sing-song quality to it. Anyone looking at her slight frame and youthful face would have pegged her as a teenager, for nothing in her manner suggested the age and intelligence she truly possessed. "They tried to keep me from you, but we fooled 'em. And soon you'll be all better."

            "Dr. Quinzel."

            The voice, as well as the man it belonged to, relayed a majestic quality, one that demanded attention, respect and obedience. She looked up at him descending the stairs, his heavy velvet robes swirling around him and his hand-picked faithful followers trailing behind. She left the Joker's side and moved towards him, a bounce in her step but not quite skipping. 

            "Harley, please," she said, throwing her arms wide in greetings. "There's no need to stand on formality. We're all friends here."

            "Indeed," he answered. "Do you have what I asked for?"

            "We ran into an itsy-bitsy problem," she said, holding her hand in front of her face, her thumb and fore-finger less than an inch apart. 

            "And that would be?"

            "He lost the girl," she said, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder at where Blockbuster sat, head down, as if asleep. He was wearing a bandage over his left eye and a piece of cotton protruded from one nostril, rust colored from dried blood. Harley glided close to the mad and lightly twisted his goatee around her finger. "But don't worry; we'll get her for you. You will still help Mr. J, won't you?"

            He grabbed her wrist and forcibly pushed her away from him. 

            "Kindly refrain from touching me, Doctor." His eyes cut from her to the Joker and back to her. "I am not without patience, Doctor, but it is not infinite. I will take him with me as agreed and he will receive the best medical administrations while he is in my care. However, I will not cure him until you fulfill your part of the bargain. Is that understood?"

He snapped his fingers and motioned towards the comatose man. Four of his followers ran to the gurney and began wheeling it out. A bald, shirtless muscleman walked with them, talking softly into a radio handset. Harley watched this then turned on the man.

"If the brat is so important to you, why didn't you just grab her yourself?"

"Because," the man answered dryly, "I don't want the detective to see my hand in this until I'm ready. If you deposited the proper materials I gave you when you confiscated the Joker, the detective should be chasing his own tail around the world for quite some time, giving me plenty of time to set my own plans in motion. But for this I need the girl. Bring her to me, alive, and I'll restore your…Mr. J…to his former self. Improved, I would imagine. Until you bring the girl to me, however, he will remain as he is now. You know how to contact me. I suggest you do it soon."

He turned on his heel and left, his men still trailing behind. Harley watched him leave, fists clenched by her side, her bottom lip poked out in a pout. She turned and looked at three men standing behind the desk she had set up in another corner of the room. They were all that were left of the Joker's once formidable gang, but to their credit, they'd remained as loyal to him as she had. 

"Go get word out on the street," she barked. "I want this girl found. There will be a sizeable reward for whoever gets me the information on her whereabouts. Don't try to snatch her yourselves. Just get the information to me and I'll take it from there."

"Yes, ma'am," they said and left.

"What about me, toots?" a voice came from another part of the expansive room. She focused her attention on him. He was short, dumpy and overweight and to her obvious distaste, dressed like a slob. He smelled, too. His long hair and beard were dirty and stringy and he had his pet perched on his shoulders. A weasel. Appropriate, she thought. Over his shoulder, he was carrying a pristine black leather case. His laptop. He was a master of electronics and computer systems. She'd hated lowering herself to having to deal with him, but sometimes circumstances dictated actions.

"Byte," she said sweetly. "I haven't forgotten about you. You want your payment, no doubt."

"You got it, toots," he said, smiling at her. His rotten teeth disgusted her. "One million five is what I'm looking for. Ya' know, I almost feel guilty about taking your money. It's not like the asylum's defenses were hard to crack. Get in, shut down alarms, open locks. Piece of cake."

"Good," she said, circling around the desk. "I'm glad it was so easy for you. I hate to give anyone anything that might be too much for them to handle. Blockbuster, notwithstanding." Her eyes cut again at the sleeping giant sitting on the couch. "Mr. J always said you needed to have at least one muscle-bound buffoon in your gang for heavy lifting. They don't come much bigger or dumber than that."

"Yo', toots, my money?" Byte said, approaching her. The weasel just glared. 

"Here," she said and produced an oversized toy handgun. She shot him in the chest. The look of surprise on his face as the capsule exploded against him and his face was enveloped in a cloud of reddish fog was priceless. He coughed twice before he started to giggle. The giggles quickly turned to ticklish laughter to gut-wrenching belly laughs. Finally, he fell to the floor, a huge grin distorting his face. He and his weasel were both dead.

"Keep the change," Harley said. "And never call me toots."


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"Any luck yet," asked Dinah Lance, the Black Canary. She came out of her room on the top landing inside the Gotham Clock Tower, the base of operations for the Oracle. She was wearing a white bathrobe and her drying her hair with a towel. Beneath her, Barbara Gordon, the human behind the Oracle, sat staring at a computer monitor, one of many that littered the bottom floor. She looked like she hadn't moved in hours.

"Not yet," Barbara said. "Not for lack or trying. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear this woman didn't exist."

Dinah walked downstairs and stood behind the redhead, reading what was on each monitor. On one was a police report detailing the Arkham Asylum riot. On another, there were four open windows, each connected to a different news feed. On the one Barbara currently sat in front of was an autopsy report on Libby Kanly, complete with pictures. "Eww. You could have warned me."

"You could wait until I'm done," Barbara replied.

"What's the fun in that?"

"Good evening, Miss Dinah," came a well groomed voice with a clipped British accent from behind her. Dinah turned and smiled at the older gentleman in a butler's uniform. He was carrying a silver try with a sandwich and coffee on it. "If I'd known you were up, I'd have brought you something to eat as well."

"Alfred!" Dinah's smile widened. "Where did you come from, handsome?"

            "With Master Bruce being away, I thought perhaps I could be of some assistance here." 

            "I guess it's a good thing I decided not to walk around here naked, thinking it was just us girls."

            "Quite right, madam," Alfred said, unruffled. "You might have been embarrassed. Would you care for a snack? Or perhaps a late breakfast?"

            "Sure. A couple of eggs and some toast would be great."

            "Coming right up." He gave a slight bow and proceeded down the hall to the kitchen. After he was gone, Dinah turned back to Barbara.

            "So what do we have?" she asked.

            Barbara shook her head.

            "Not much. I can't seem to find any record of this Kanly woman until about seventeen years ago, just before she gave birth. She suddenly appears out of nowhere with a house, a steady job and quite a bit of money in the bank. Whoever the hell she was, someone did a great job at covering her tracks. There's something familiar about her, I just can't put my finger on what it is.

            "Here's what I have found. She worked at WayneTech in the securities division. I can't find an actual job description, but I don't see her name listed anywhere as a guard, so I'm figuring she must have worked in development somewhere. She makes a great salary, but has no bills to speak of. The house is paid for and all utilities are paid for each month from an outside source. Not only that, but her bank account gets an additional fifty thousand dollars a month from an undisclosed source."

            "Did you follow the money?" Dinah asked.

            "I tried. It just loops around on itself. Whoever did this tagged some amazing security onto it. 

            "Now, what else do we have? She has one child, Helena, 16, who, as you know, is currently missing. According to the reports I've intercepted, the police have done all the normal looking: her school, her known friends and regular hangouts. Unfortunately for us, they've covered almost everything Bruce gave us."

            "Does that tell us anything?" Dinah pointed to the screen displaying the autopsy.

            "Not much. Apparently her neck was broken by a tremendous force. She had some skin scraping under her fingernails and blood under one toenail. They're running a DNA test now to see if it matches any known felons. Maybe once that comes back we'll have an answer or two."

            "And the Joker?" Dinah looked at Barbara for a reaction but there was none. 

            "Slim pickings there, too," Barbara said. "When the riot started at Arkham, the security detail was pulled off his hospital room to help, save for one guard. He was later found dead. He died happy, though." She punched a button and a picture appeared on the screen of a middle-aged man in a policeman's uniform slumped against a white wall, a huge, cheek-splitting grin on his face.

            "So what now?" Dinah asked. Barbara used the joystick control to back up and turn her wheelchair, a parting gift from the Joker, who'd severed her spine with a bullet eight years earlier, when she fought alongside Batman as Batgirl. Now, as Oracle, she had to let someone else do the legwork. Recently, that someone had been Black Canary. The partnership had done both women more good than either would admit.  

            "I'm not sure," Barbara said. "For now, we have to assume that whoever killed this woman is after her daughter as well, but until we get a few more details, I don't know what else to do. Do you need to go to the club tonight?"

            "No. I called Gibson and told him not to expect me. "

            "Been doing that a lot recently, haven't you."

            Dinah shrugged. "It's my club. If I want to be a little flighty, I can. Besides, Gibson's been doing a great job managing it. He remembers everything I tell him, down to the minutest detail. The man's mind is like a trap. I don't know how he does it."

            They were interrupted by Alfred returning with a second silver tray. Dinah attacked the eggs.

            "So good," she said. 'When are you and I going on a wild weekend in Hawaii, Alfred? I hear the parties get al little wild there. You, me, the surf…"

            "I'm afraid it would probably be too wild, Miss Dinah," Alfred said, turning to leave. "I don't believe you'd be able to handle me."

            Barbara smiled at Dinah after the older man had disappeared back into the back part of the loft. "You know you'll never get the better of him," she said.

            "I know. But it fun to try."

            A low beeping and a flashing red light suddenly cut through Barbara's smile.

             "The Bat-Signal's been activated," she said. The two women looked out the large windows fronting the gears of the giant clock. A faint image of a giant bat could be seen floating off the clouds in the gathering dusk. "You'd better answer it."

            "Me?"

            "Batman said the city was ours until he got back. I think this qualifies."

            "Yours," Dinah said, arms crossed. "He said the city was yours."

            "Would it make you feel better to wear my old suit?"

            Dinah stuck out her tongue. "It won't fit. Your legs were always too damn long for me." She threw up her hands and headed up the stairs. "All right. I'm going." 

            Barbara looked back at the signal sweeping back and forth across the sky.

            "Watch out, dad," she said to herself. "The Black Canary coming."


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**            Commissioner James Gordon stood on the edge of the roof looking out over the city. Behind him, he could hear the gears of the heavy spotlight grinding as they made it automatically swing in its slow, quarter turn sweeps of the sky. He always marveled at the view from here. Only eight years since the mighty quake that had torn the city down, yet not a trace of that No Man's Land existed. Only in certain parts of the very outskirts of the city could any of the damage still be seen. WayneTech and LexCorp had worked together to pull off a miracle. The idiots at City Hall had actually wanted to change the name of the city to New Gotham, but luckily Bruce Wayne had managed to squash that idea before it took hold. It was Gotham before the quake and Gotham it would ever remain. **

            Of course, the city wasn't the only causality of the quake. Nor was it the only thing on his mind tonight. The quake had split Arkham practically in half, and what madmen hadn't escaped then were set free by that crackpot doctor, Quinzel, working on behalf of the Joker. What the quake didn't destroy, he managed to. And in the course of doing so he killed one of Batman's partners and crippled another. His own daughter, Barbara. And now that lunatic was out there again, somewhere.

            He checked his watch again. It wasn't like him to take this long.

            "You rang?" 

            He turned to the speaker, but they were standing to the side of the signal, giving him nothing but a silhouette to work with. 

"Who are you?" he asked, his hand heading to his gun. It obviously wasn't Batman.    

            "Black Canary," she said. "Batman's gone."

            "Gone?"

            "Well, not gone gone. He'll be back. Until then, he asked me to look after things for him."

            Gordon's gun hand relaxed but it didn't move away. "He's spoken of you. Very highly. He's also said that one day someone else might answer this call in his stead, but he gave me a code phrase to let me know the person was with him. What is it?"

            "Phoenix rising," crackled in her ear. She repeated the phrase and Gordon relaxed. He walked over and turned off the spotlight. Black Canary had worn her original costume, a black leather bodysuit with a matching leather jacket, fishnet stockings and the black "Robin Hood" boots given to her by her ex-boyfriend, Green Arrow. The silver bird's head com-mike choker rested around her throat.

            "How much do you know about what's going on?" he asked her.

            "That depends. Are we talking about the Joker's disappearance or the riot at Arkham?" She'd purposely left out her knowledge of the woman's murder. If Batman hadn't given his information over to the police, he must have had a reason and until they figured out what it was, it was best to keep mum.

            "Arkham, mostly, but if you work with Him I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you know about the other already." He pulled a pipe out of his pocket and began packing it with tobacco. He was quiet as he did it, and Canary felt a little uncomfortable in the silence. She felt like he was testing her in some way and she wasn't sure if, by speaking, she would pass or fail. He produced a silver lighter from his vest pocket and pulled the flame into the bowl, thoroughly scorching the tobacco. Two pulls on the pipe later, he continued as if he'd never stopped. "Everyone at Arkham is now accounted for, except two. Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow and Eddie "Slick" Waters. There are no leads on either one yet, but I'm sure they won't take too long to make themselves heard."

            "We'll keep a lookout for anything and-"

            "We?" Gordon asked

            "I," she quickly amended, mentally kicking herself. "I meant I'll keep a lookout and let you know if I run across anything. If you hear anything, just, you know…" She motioned towards the giant spotlight.

            "Fair enough," Gordon said. "Will you need a different symbol or anything?"

            "No," Canary smiled at him. "I think the bat will be fine."

            She started to say something else, but was interrupted buy a dark-skinned man coming out on the roof. He was holding a folder in one hand and appeared excited.

            "Commissioner," he said, waving the folder in front of him. "They told me I could find you up here. We finally got some information back from the lab on the…" he trailed off when he saw Black Canary standing close to his boss. Gordon saw his hesitation and waved it away absently with his pipe.

            "Anything you have to say you can say in front of her. She's been vouched for by a trust-worthy source."

            "But, Commissioner, this is official police-"

            "Detective Reece," Gordon interrupted. "I said it was okay. Now what do you have?"

            Detective Reece looked unsure, but handed the folder to Gordon anyway. "They found two bloody fingerprints on the doorjamb of the Kanly woman's house. They were a bit smudged but the lab managed to find a match. They belonged to a guy named Roland Desmond."

            "Blockbuster." Gordon looked at Canary. "Add him to your list of people to look out for."

            "I'll be on touch," she said, moving back towards the opposite corner of the roof, behind the stairwell entrance where she could exit unseen. Gordon waited until she was gone before turning to Reece, who hadn't taken his eyes off Canary throughout her exit, his face clearly showing his unhappiness.

            "Is there a problem, Detective?"

            "No, Sir," Reece lied, and then blurted, "I just don't think we should be working with a bunch of half-breeds, Sir."

            Gordon raised his eyebrows. "Half-breeds?"

            "You know, half-breeds. Half human freaks."

            "First of all," Gordon said, turning to the detective, "I believe they like to be called Metas, if you have to put a tag on them at all. And if memory serves me correct, I don't believe Black Canary can be considered a Meta any longer. From what I understand she lost her powers some time ago. Second of all, I realize you're new here and that a police station is the last place you'll find pristine language use, but I do not allow slurs to be used in my department. At least not in my presence. This includes racial, sexual or Meta-Human.

            "Third, and pay attention to this, son, because it could one day save your life. Gotham doesn't have a learning curve. There are lunatics out there who live to do nothing but kill and destroy, simply because they feel like it. Some of them occasionally show the typical motives, like money or revenge, but more often than not they do it because they can. Good people willing to fight that kind of evil are few and far between, especially in this city. We need to do whatever we can to keep the ones who are willing to fight on our side, masks or no masks. Is that clear?"

            "Yes, sir," Reece said, averting his eyes.

            "One more thing," Gordon continued. "I don't think anyone else but me knows your background, son. I'd think you'd be the last person to be throwing around phrases like half-breed, no matter what the inference."

            Detective Reece nodded and walked to the open doorway to return downstairs. Gordon took one last look at the city, his city, and followed.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

            Barbara pushed herself away from the computer and stretched. She'd been sitting in front of one monitor or another since the early hours of the morning trying to piece together the puzzle in front of her with little success and if she didn't take a break she was going to do some damage to something.

            Who was this woman, Libby Kanly? Why was she killed? Where was her daughter? What was her connection to the Joker and Arkham? She was now confidant there was a connection. The timing not withstanding, the lab report she just intercepted naming Desmond as the most likely candidate to be the killer cinched it. She was the Oracle, one of the top computer hackers in the world. There was nothing she couldn't find out, yet that's exactly what she had found: Nothing. 

            And to make it worse, she felt like the answer was staring her in the face.

            She cut the power to her wheelchair and manually wheeled herself to the elevator. The physical exertion felt good. She took the elevator down one level where she kept a fully stocked gym. She used elastic strips to bind her legs together before puling herself up onto the overhead bars. The bars were set at different levels across the room, allowing her to merely reach across to some of them but making her swing to others. She knew she shouldn't be doing this without someone there to spot her, but right now she wanted to be alone. 

            She worked out for 45 minutes before lowering herself back into the chair, beaded with sweat. She took the elevator down one more level to her apartment. The false wall panel swung open to allow her access. There were buffers set up around the apartment to keep the noise of anyone working out in the gym non-existent and the hidden panel here and on the ground floor of the building kept access to the upper levels a secret. Dinah had taken over the loft apartment in the mail clock tower room while Alfred had made his room in a small, single bed alcove off the kitchen upstairs. She had tried to talk him into rooming down here with her. Being a three bedroom apartment, it had plenty of room, but he'd refused. 

            She showered and changed into fresh clothes. Her hair had been towel dried and pulled back into a pony-tail to keep it out of her face. A quick trip to the kitchen would be all she needed to get her ready to go back upstairs and tackle the puzzle again. But what else could she do. She had one more avenue to pursue but was reluctant to use it. It'd been so long since she'd talked to him she hated to call him up solely on business. He wouldn't mind, of course, but still…

            Back upstairs, she stared a while at the telephone before finally picking it up. She flipped a switch set into the base of the phone before dialing the number. The contraption kept any third party listeners from hearing anything but static. He picked up on the first ring.

            "Hello?" he said cheerily. She'd always marveled at his complexity. Always cheerful, the eternal optimist, yet so single-mindedly driven for perfection. Neither type A nor B personality. Dick Grayson, former Robin and current Nightwing; so much like his mentor, yet so totally different.

            "Hey, Dick. It's me."

            "Barbara!" She almost winced. She could hear his smile widening. "What's going on?"

            "Same old thing," she said. "What about you? How are things in Bludhaven?"

            "We've got a serial killer running around killing innocent Metas with their own powers, but other than that it's been pretty quiet. I think I've got a line on who this guy is but I won't know for sure until after I check a few things out tonight. I'm glad you caught me. I was getting ready to suit up and head out."

            "Got a girlfriend yet?"

            He laughed. "Between my days on the police force and my nights on the rooftops, who has time? Besides, you know I only have eyes for you."

            "Yeah. Me. And Donna. And Kory. And Bette. Who am I forgetting?"

            "Come on, Babs. You know you've always been the one for me. They were simply distractions to help bandage the heart you broke. You're the only one with the power to heal it."

            "Flatterer," Barbara said. "You'd better not tell any of them that of you might get your lungs handed to you."

            "True," he said. Then he grew sober. "What's on your mind, Barbara?"

            "Am I that transparent?"

            "Only to someone who knows you well. So c'mon, spill it."

            "Did Bruce ever mention a woman by the name of Libby Kanly to you?"

            "Not that I can recall. Who is she?"

            She told him everything that had happened over the past day.

            "And _you_ can't find anything on her? At all?" 

            "No."

            "Well," he said, his own mental wheels starting to turn, "Libby isn't a standard first name."

            "No," Barbara confirmed. "Her real name was Elise, although she never used it. Libby is a common nickname for Elise. Elise is also short for Elizabeth, and once you start getting into the nicknames for Elizabeth, you might as well plan on staying for awhile. I know. I tried them all."

            She could hear him mumbling the name softly to himself. "Elise, Elise." Suddenly he asked, "How was her last name spelled?"

            She spelled it for him. There was a brief pause, and then he broke out laughing.

            "Spill it, Bird Boy. What's so funny?"

            "Considering the circumstances, nothing. I just can't believe a puzzle guru like you missed it. Her name. Elise Kanly is-"

            As soon as he said puzzle, it hit her.

            "-an anagram!" she finished. Letters of a phrase rearranged to make another phrase. The letters clicked in her mind, and she knew. "That son-of-a-bitch! He knew all along!" She realized she was yelling into the phone and forced herself to calm down. "Dick, I've got to go. I need to let Dinah now what's going on. She's the one who's going to be in the middle of this."

            "Do I need to make a field trip?" he asked, serious again.

            "No, not right now. If anything happens, I'll let you know. I just need to talk to Dinah."

            "Fair enough. I'll take my COM link with me tonight, just in case."

            "Okay. And Dick…thanks."

            "Anytime red." His voice was smiling again.

            Barbara hung up and pulled on her headset. She punched in Black Canary's access code. "Dinah."

            "I'm here, cruising the highways and byways of Goth-"

            "Dinah, shut up. You need to hear this. I know who the woman was. Her name was an anagram. Elise Kanly was Selina Kyle. The girl you're looking for is Catwoman's daughter."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Candi Cayne took one last drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out. She had a decision to make: what was more important, loyalty or survival?

            The young girl on the couch stirred but didn't wake. Helena Kanly, or more appropriately, Helena Kyle, the daughter of her old friend Selina, had only woken once since she showed up at the door in the early hours of the morning. Candi knew the girl must still be in shock and wondered if her mind was just shutting down so it wouldn't have to deal with what it had seen. With concussions, you weren't supposed to let people go to sleep, but was it the same with shock? Should she wake her up? She decided to let her sleep while she wrestled with the other questions plaguing her.

            She lit another cigarette.

            Selina had always been nice to her. When Candi had first rolled into town all those many years ago, it was Selina who taught her how to survive on the street. Sell your body, not your soul, Selina would always say. Robin Hood was an idiot was another one of her favorite sayings. Never give away what you rightfully earned or stole.

            But Selina did give things away. Even after she changed her name and moved away, she would occasionally show up, bringing Candi clothes or food or just money. Candi went through all of it fairly quick, but Selina would always bring more, no questions asked. If you have to ask, you either don't want to know or it's none of your business, Selina always said.

            Candi knew all about minding your own business. She'd slept with city officials and mobsters alike and was privy to many of their secrets. Some of those secrets could pay her well, but it was the cost that kept her mouth shut. She even had a brief stint with the Riddler's gang once and was present when he concocted his cleaver clues. Once, she had spoken out of turn and she still had the question-mark shaped scar on her painfully thin shoulder blade to remind her of that folly.

            Selina had stepped in on her behalf that time, too.

            Selina never judged her or preached to her about what she should do, she just looked out for her from afar. Sometimes when Selina came by, they would sit up and talk for hours about anything and everything. The last few times Selina had visited, Helena had come with her. 

That's probably why she came here after what happened, Candi thought. No one else knows about me. If she'd run to any of her friends, she'd been found pretty quickly. 

Candi wonder how she got so far so fast, though. From Selina's house on the outskirts of town to the tenements of downtown Gotham was a nice little trip. And once you were here, getting past the gang-bangers, pimps and drug dealers, especially if you were a young girl wearing a little bit of nothing, was no mean trick. Then again, if you have to ask…

She made her decision. If Selina was dead, she wouldn't be stopping by anymore. She wouldn't be bringing her any more clothes or money. Without Selina, how would she survive? She had to look out for herself. That was the bottom line. 

Candi finished her cigarette and started packing her pocketbook. Brass knuckles, pepper spray, stun gun. A girl couldn't be too careful in a two like Gotham. She wrote a note for Helena, in case the girl woke while she was gone, pulled a stocking cap over her buzz cut and headed down the four flights of stairs to the street.

It didn't take too long to find who she was looking for.

The three men sat in a greasy diner, eating some sort of unappetizing fair that had a passing resemblance to burgers and fries. They had been a part of many entourages, but were best known for their stint in the joker's gang.

"Are you the ones looking for the girl?"

"Who the hell are you?" one of the men growled at her.

"Someone with some information to sell," Candi said.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Roland Desmond wasn't used to pain. He hadn't experienced a great deal of it since drinking the chemicals that had turned him into Blockbuster, and his memory of it was hazy. Then again, all of his memories were starting to get hazy.

But he was in pain now. His nose hurt him every time he tried to breathe. His eye was connected to an electric wire all the way back to his brain. He was in a great deal of pain and it was all because of that woman. If he could get his hands on her, he'd kill her if he hadn't done so already.

His good eye scanned the dirty buildings and trash lined alleyways he was passing. He was almost there, where the girl was. Harley needed the girl, he reminded himself. Get the girl and kill anyone else around, she'd told him. He looked again at the piece of paper in his hand and rechecked the building numbers. This was the right building. 

Another wave of stabbing pain hit the back of his ruined eye socket. He groaned and clutched at the side of his head with his fist. After a few minutes, the fire subsided. He looked again at the piece of paper in his hand, staring uncomprehendingly at the note. Then it came back to him. The girl. He had to get the girl. 

He checked the building number again before reading the rest of the note. Forth floor, apartment A. That's where the girl was. He had to find her and…what was it Harley had said?

Oh, yes.

Kill the girl and anyone else around.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

"Canary."

"I'm here."

"An officer just called in a sighting. Someone fitting Blockbuster's description was just seen entering a building on West 187. Building number 4748. One officer is on the scene and more are on their way, but it may be a few minutes."

"I'm two blocks away." Canary said. "I'm going in."

She twisted the accelerator and the bike shot forward. She saw the building and shot up on the sidewalk, screeching to a halt beside a heavily dented mailbox. Smoke was drifting from the back tire. She swung her leg off the bike and took off her helmet, looking around for the cop who'd called in the sighting. 

A scream cut through the night and, above her, a window shattered. She looked up to see a body soaring downward from four stories up. A body wearing Gotham blue. It arced away from the building and came to rest in the middle of the road with a sickening thud. She thought about checking on him to see if by any miracle he was still alive, then realized time was a luxury she didn't have.

"Oracle, tell the cops to get here now! The situation's gone hot!"

From a side pouch hook to her bike, Canary extracted a two foot metal rod. She ran into the brownstone building, taking the stairs three at a time. The screaming continued, amplified by the narrow stairwell. Two distinct women's voices were mingling with a sound she could only describe as an angry bull. Other tenants were beginning to poke their heads out of their apartments to investigate what was going on. She pushed past an elderly couple and a strung-out teenager on her way to the next landing.

"Get out of the way!" she yelled. "Move it!"

"Isn't that Hawkgirl?" she heard one lady ask a neighbor. Canary groaned.

Looking through the railing at the landing above her, Canary saw one door completely ripped off its hinges. Plaster dust was beginning to settle. A chair slammed against the door frame with enough force to snap two of its legs before falling to the floor. 

She made it up the last set of stairs in two strides.

Blockbuster was standing in the middle of the small apartment, clutching his head with both hands. His face was contorted in pain and he was roaring incomprehensively. Two women were backed in to a corner, a small dinner table between them and the behemoth. One she recognized as Helena. Both women were still screaming.

A large hole over the couch symbolized where a window used to be.

"Oracle, they're here," she said softly, then raised her voice to get above the din. "Back off, Desmond!" She pressed a hidden switch on the rod, releasing either end to telescope to form a six foot fighting staff. It wasn't a weapon she particularly liked using, but against Blockbuster, she needed every advantage.

He turned to the sound of her voice, his good eye blazing. Suddenly, he let out a long bellowing cry and charged at her. It only took him three strides to reach the doorway and swing one meaty fist. Just before he got to her, she dove through the door, under the arc of his swing. She rolled across the floor, using the staff as an axle, and ended back on her feet. She turned and fell into a fighting stance, the staff in both hands, crossing her body. Her leap had put her between the women and Blockbuster.

His fist connected with the door frame. Large pieces of wood and plaster rained into the hallway. The confused cries of the other tenants joined with the noise in the apartment. Blockbuster looked at the empty space in the door and then at his hand, as if he expected her to be on it, squished like a bug. Looking over his right shoulder, he saw her standing ready and slowly turned.

"Kill the girl and everybody," he said slowly and Canary wondered if he was talking to her or to himself. 

"Not going to happen," she answered. A movement caught her eye and she almost struck out. It was the woman who'd been standing with Helena trying to run past her. 

"Get back," Canary said, trying to grab her, but the woman was just out of reach and heading straight towards Blockbuster. "Are you nuts?"

"You're not supposed to kill me," the woman was saying to him. "I told you where to find her. I told you-"

Blockbuster grabbed one skinny arm and flung her across the room. She did two pirouettes before slamming into the wall and falling hard to the floor. He was still turned slightly and Canary swung down with the staff, connecting with his wrist. The tip of the staff snapped off. Blockbuster backhanded her. Canary went limp as her feet left the floor and she tried to roll with the impact as she fell bodily on the kitchen table. It upended and flipped, sending her to the floor. Plates and glasses crashed around her. She could feel the side of her face swelling with the force of his blow. Blood ran from her nose and split lip. A pocketbook narrowly missed her head as it hit the floor and spilt its contents across the small kitchen. 

Then she noticed something else. Helena was no longer screaming.

The table had flipped away from the girl, leaving nothing between her and blockbuster. Canary could see past the edge of the table. She could see Helena's fists clenching and unclenching, the rhythm matching the girl's rapidly increased breathing. Helena's face was screwed into a mask of pain and anger. Tears were flowing freely. 

"Stop it," Helena was chanting, growing louder with each repetition. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!

"STOP IT!"

Helena leapt at him. He tried to grab her but her jump took her over his head, her hand trailing across his face as she passed. His head snapped to the side and back forward. His right cheek had been laid open from nose to ear, with four deep, bloody groves. Helena twisted her body in the air and she landed softly behind him. Her feet barely touched the floor before she launched herself at his back, her hands slashing the air. He arched his body forward, bellowing in pain.

Canary got to her feet.

Blockbuster turned on the girl and tried to grab her but she ducked under his hand and lashed out above her at his arm. He yanked it back, yelping with surprise. Three cuts ran down his arm from wrist to elbow. 

Helena's original chant had been replaced with a new one. "You killed her! You killed her!"

Blockbuster lunged at her again and again she dodged, leaving him with a new set of slashes. He lunged, she dodged, he yelped. Then as suddenly as it began, it ended. 

Blockbuster had managed to grab one of her hands in his and was holding tight. His other hand was around her neck, lifting her off the ground. She was trying to loosen his grip with no avail. 

"Kill the girl," he said to himself again. "Kill the girl."

Canary looked for a weapon. She started to move forward and kicked something, causing it to slide across the floor. It had fallen from the purse that had fallen off the table. She picked it up and thumbed the switch. 

A sparkling blue ark crackled between the posts of the stun gun.

Canary ran forward and jammed the business end of the weapon into Blockbuster's neck, just above his spinal cord. She thumbed the switch again and Blockbuster went rigid. His fingers opened, spreading as far away from each other as they could. Helena dropped to the floor. The stun gun stopped buzzing, its timed charge over. Canary switched it on again. It took almost seven full charges before Blockbuster collapsed unconscious, the back of his neck charred.

Canary faced Helena. The girl was crouched, ready to pounce. Her eyes were strange, her pupils elongated. 

Cat's eyes, Canary realized. 

"Easy," Canary said, holding her hands up, palms turned to the girl. "I'm here to help. You need to calm down."

"He killed her," Helena growled. She flexed her in and out. Blood coated her fingertips. Her nails were stream-lined, pointed. Those aren't nails, Canary thought, they're claws. Sharp enough to cut through even Blockbuster's thick hide.

"Yes, he did," Canary said. "But he's out now. The police should be here any minute to take care of him. I'm here to help you."

"He killed her," Helena said again, but softer this time. Her whole body seemed to be relaxing, muscle by muscle. The girl blinked twice and when she opened her eyes, her pupils had regained their normal shape. Her facial features softened. When Canary looked at the girl's hand she saw the claws had retracted as well. Helena fell to her knees, crying. "He killed her."

Black Canary knelt in front of the girl and wrapped her arms around the sobbing teenager. 

When Detective Reece ran in the apartment with a group of officers, guns drawn, both women completely ignored them.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

"You can't send a moron to do a lunatic's job!"

Harley Quinzel, the infamous Harlequin, slammed the newspaper containing a less-than-detailed report of Blockbuster's arrest on the desk.

"What do we do now, Boss?" asked her head henchman.

"Why, the same thing we do every day," she said, but one look at the culture-deprived idiot's face and she knew the joke was wasted. She waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Nevermind. What we do now is simple. We find the girl, we get the girl and we hand the girl over. Apparently nothing short of that will be payment enough to cure my puddin'."

She picked up the newspaper and began to reread the article, waling around the desk in a circle as she did so. She was wearing one of the Joker's purple shirts as a dress, her face devoid of any make-up, her hair pulled into pigtails. As before, there was no mention of the girl in the paper. Frustrated, she threw it down again.

"We lost our muscle and we lost the girl," she said somberly, then brightened. "But that's okay. We'll find her. We'll find her and hand her over and get Mr. J back. And when we do-" her hands curled into fists "-we'll tear this city down."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

Commissioner Gordon sat in the living room of his daughter's apartment, nursing a cup of coffee. 

"He'll survive, for now," Gordon said, referring to Blockbuster. He'd just finished giving Barbara a rundown on the events of the previous day. "None of his wounds were life-threatening, but is brain is almost gone. The chemicals he used to turn himself into Blockbuster have destroyed his mind. The doctors said he was probably suffering from dementia and memory loss before he was brought in. They doubt he'll ever regain consciousness."

"Isn't that what killed his older brother, the first Blockbuster?" Barbara asked.

Gordon nodded. He paused before asking, "Did you ever know this woman, Libby Kanly?" 

            "The name doesn't ring a bell."

            Gordon stood up and began pacing, his eyes focused upward. Barbara recognized it as his way of slipping into "official" mode; trying to gather his thoughts in order to ask the right questions, give the right information. He paused long enough o start talking before the pacing resumed.

            "We received a package at headquarters this morning with some strange information. In it was proof, of a sort, that Libby Kanly was in fact Selina Kyle, Catwoman. I know you'd had dealings with Catwoman…before…and was wondering if you knew about any of this?"

            Barbara shook her head. Gordon continued.

            "We couldn't confirm anything. When we tried, we found all records of Catwoman had disappeared, including hard copies. The only thing we did have was a twenty year old faded newspaper article of one arrest that an officer's wife had in her scrapbook. It was still inconclusive. That's one of the reasons I kept this information out of the official report and from the press."

            "Dad, I have to ask, why are you telling me all of this?"

            "Because you're involved in this up to you neck," he answered. Her surprise was evident. "Barbara, are you still involved with any of this superhero business?"

            "Dad," she said, motioning to indicate her legs, "I'm in a wheelchair."

            "Not really an answer," he said, "But I'll take it." He handed Barbara a file folder.

            "What's this" she asked.

            "The other reason I suppressed the information relating to Miss Kanly's real identity. Those are papers concerning her daughter, Helena. In the event of her death, she named you Helena's legal guardian."  

Barbara's eyes widened with shock.

"Congratulations, Barbara. You're a mother."

**End of Episode One**


End file.
